


for all the shattered ones

by Spades



Category: Incredible Hulk (2008), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Bruce, Drunk Bruce hits on Clint, Jealousy, M/M, Recovering Alcoholic!Tony, implied Bruce/Clint, implied tony/bruce/pepper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spades/pseuds/Spades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain.<br/>All is lost, hope remains, and this war's not over.<br/>There's a light, there's the sun, taking all shattered ones.<br/>To the place we belong, and his love will conquer all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for all the shattered ones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scibfs (bearprincess)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearprincess/gifts).



He's sober – has to be, risking falling off that train is not something he wants to do, but Bruce, Bruce is on drink I'm-giggly and Clint is right besides him nursing beer 4. Clint's just joined them, Bruce had a hard day, Tony fixed him a drink and a few others and Clint decided; 'what the hey, I could use a drink while Natasha is on a mission with Steve'. They're muttering about something Tony doesn't understand, but Bruce is definitely flirting – Clint is either playing dumb or just not getting it – Tony does, Tony fucking knows that little quirk in the corner of Bruce's mouth and the way he's placed an arm along the back of the couch. Tony can't stop the scowl and the way he almost drops the screw driver at the sudden touch to the back of Clint's neck and the way Bruce is suddenly leaning in, smiling as he drops his voice his voice to quiet and Clint has to lean in to get a better listen to what the physicist's saying.

Tony's hands pause completely, the screw driver lingering in one hand and the boot held in the other. His chest is suddenly aching, there is anger prickling the corners of his eyes and lips and motherfucking god, he knows Bruce is ignoring him now. He's invisible because there's Clint and his stupid arms with veins that he's heard the other admit to wanting to lick and that doesn't sit well with him. It shouldn't ever have to sit well with him, because Bruce was supposed to be his and it's making him think that there's something wrong with him. That's not fair, Tony's good enough, he's just gotten it into his head and there goes Bruce fucking wrecking that idea though. Tearing his eyes away, Tony's hands start moving again, he needs to focus on something else not the way that he felt like something (Bruce) was tearing little holes into his heart.

He hears it, soft, careful, spoken pristine and not at all slurred like the rest of Bruce's words, like he's practiced for it, “Can I see your arms?” Or something like that, Tony isn't sure because time slowed down and his ears were filled with a jack hammer and white noise and he's getting up and just leaving before he starts a fight. He's so glad that his arc reactor was more covered than normal for lounging around the common room – the last thing anyone needed to see was the stupidly expensive mood ring he stuck in his chest to keep himself alive, because he's sure it just dimmed and fluttered like it always did when he felt fucking hurt and destroyed and about ready to turn into a red and gold rage monster himself.

Fingers just grip the boot and screw driver tight and heads out of the area that was decidedly common. He barely makes it to an unused lab before the prototype boot is thrown against the wall, shattering and Tony is left throwing a beaker, a set of extra tools, everything he can get his hands on in every which direction. 

_Don't think of the way the arc reactor fluttered in your chest_ , he tells himself quietly, _it'll just hurt more that way_. It hurts so fucking much, heart thumping hard against the back of the metal and the way it's pulsing faster, straining so much more to keep the shards from everything that mattered in his body. 

He's refusing to think of the way, that for the first time in a long time Tony wants to drink himself numb. He wants the ache to subside and he wants to float and coast until he falls unconscious – curled around the bottle protectively. He doesn't want to remember that Bruce Banner had basically started seducing someone in front of him – like he wasn't there, like he didn't _matter_. The craving hits and stays, he wonders if Bruce would look up and realize that; 'Oh hey, I may have fucked up' and come over to him and fucking apologize for suddenly being stupid if he mixed himself a drink. 

Tony thinks he's caught _the stupid_ from someone and, what a fucking case of the stupids too! It's a prize winning case that leaves Tony feeling like he can't breathe everything is spinning. God, he wants a drink – but he doesn't want to go all the fucking way back to that _room_ and see what he's imagining coming true. He doesn't know if he'd cry or laugh hysterically and try to disappear into his lab for three weeks until he felt inhuman enough to be able to deal with Bruce riding on Clint's cock or even Bruce sucking on his dick like it was the self proclaimed elixir of ' _Tony, I don't need you_ ' jumping out of his brain and becoming painted neon across the common room and motherfucking _god_ , he wants to drink so badly. 

Hands grip a cool metal counter and wishes the bite of cold would soothe the fucking heat of everything else out of him. He thinks he's drowning and doesn't think he wants to reach out for Bruce to save him for once. Instead, he calls Pepper, her voice is so soft, sweet, so fucking reassuring. She smiles and and whispers that she wishes she was home so she could help, but she's not so she listens and tries explains that Bruce wouldn't do anything to hurt him – not on purpose. That it was a bad day for him and that he was just being friendly, Tony drinks her words in like the scotch he wants sliding burning trails down the back of his throat, he wants to believe her so fucking badly – believe that he wouldn't do something that stupid. He clings to them like life buoys and let's them wash over him like gentle lapping waves. She makes him want to believe that she's right and whispers affectionate nonsense at him – talking him down from going after that fucking leap. 

He talks to her for an hour and lets himself whisper he loves her and she just smiles and tells him that she'll be back in a few days and not to make a bigger mess than he already did. He's so tired, drained, he's parched and thinks he can do it again. He's a bit scared of what he'll find – but he knows he needs to go get Bruce. He wants to curl up in his arms and kiss him stupid, make him promise that he only sees him and fuck he does not like how he feels like a teenaged girl. 

He leaves the unused lab in a mess, making only a detour to grab a bottle of grape juice and heads straight for where he left Bruce and Clint. He doesn't know what he thinks he's going to fine, but suddenly he's glad he got there right then. Bruce is leaning in, Clint his shocked still and Tony's breath is caught in his throat. Motor controls fails him and the plastic bottle hits the ground three seconds before he actually hears it. Bruce doesn't turn, only pauses at the sound and Clint is looking slightly relieved. Tony's mouth is open and he wants to yell and fucking punch Bruce and he bet's that would be fine and dandy with everyone involved – but he's not, he's frozen for a few seconds and he bets he looks hurt for only a second before he's putting up the shields and mentally retreating into his own proverbial castle.

Soon he moves, fluidly bending at the waist and grabbing the closed bottle on the ground, smiling to himself and at Clint in a way that he thinks probably looks more like an abused kitten that just kept coming back for more – at least that's what Clint's expression was. “Yeah, bed time Bruce,” he states, voice cool, fake, chipper, a fucking mask and finally Bruce looks at him and he wonders exactly _what_ he sees beyond a face. “Let's go put you to sleep.”

“...yeah, sounds good Tony,” Tony hears him, understands him and purposefully doesn't read into the voice – he doesn't want too. Tony feels like he's coasting and Bruce is apologizing to Clint and saying good night and Tony says it right after. Then they're moving back towards the elevator to the penthouse, he stops Bruce from clicking the number for the unused floor and shakes his head. He's wearing a mask and he can tell it's cracking slightly, Bruce just stares and tilts his head and reaches for him and doesn't flinch when Tony does. It's a-fucking-mazing in retrospect, the way Bruce doesn't respond to _Tony_ flinching away from _him_. Another time and day, Tony would tell Bruce that he's finally come to strut like a motherfucker and it was good, but right now, Tony can't think of anything and stares right passed Bruce's head in a guise of looking at him.

The doors open with a woosh and Tony walks out first, turning to glance over his shoulder and smile, “Bruce, bed's that way,” he can see the confusion finally, the way he seems so fucking put off by Tony telling him that their bedroom is still open to him. Tony doesn't want to tell him that Tony's not sleeping in there with him, somehow, Tony thinks he knows. He watches Bruce walk slow and cautious towards the bedroom and only pauses twice to stop and look back at Tony and for a moment, he thinks Bruce wants him to follow, but Tony's rooted by the couch, watching Bruce disappear and finally, finally, Bruce goes into the room and Tony realizes he wasn't waiting for him to follow.

Bruce was waiting for the yelling, the fighting, the bitching and the punching and fucking _pain_ that was supposed to come after this sort of thing. Tony doesn't know if that makes this fucking hole in his chest bigger or if he just gets more numb thinking about it. 

He lays on the couch and tries to shut himself down, fall back into a subspace that leaves him just unfeeling and alone. It doesn't even remotely work, he's left wondering how fucking long Bruce had been waiting for an opportunity to tell him he doesn't want this anymore. Tony wonders if it's his fault, if he's missed some fucking _sign_ \-- if Bruce just wanted to fucking leave and couldn't find the words so he decided to do it. Make Tony want to throw him out because Bruce wouldn't go any other way. He aches and he can't find the words to even respond to that though properly – so he laughs, because there's nothing else he can do.

It's low, sad, broken and soft, a fucking shadow of his normal laugh and he scrubs his hands down his face. He wonders if Bruce will even be there in the morning – if by some fucking chance he sleeps he'll leave. Maybe Bruce will fucking time it to the point where Tony needs to go take a fucking piss and slip out then. And he hates the way it makes his gut clench and chest thrum in pain knowing that this could all be some fucking elaborate plan for him to fucking leave when all Bruce had to do was _tell him_ and he'd let him go.

He lays there on his back for god knows how long and thinks the worst about himself, he's picking himself apart, going over his issues, his imperfections and tries to figure out what the fuck he did wrong. The sound of the door opening jerks him up, he's still, listening for the drag of wheels or the thumping of a bag and for a few seconds there's nothing, not even the soft padding of feet on floor. Tony wonders why he's hesitating – if he wants to leave so badly, why is he waiting. He hates it, pushing himself up and catching the barest glance of deep grey and the flail of draw strings and he realizes Bruce is just in sweatpants, shirtless – a complete opposite to his bright blue dress shirt and black slacks. Eyes meets eyes and there's a moment where Tony doesn't know what is going on.

Tony feels exposed, terrified and fuck, he slowly settles himself back down onto the couch to escape the suddenly piercing stare, much preferring the ceiling to the look that he swore was something more than what he originally expected it to be. 

Foot falls come then, slow, tentative, he swears Bruce is stepping backwards, second guessing himself and the sound of feet slapping wood comes closer, closer. He holds himself still, breathing just almost ceasing and suddenly a thump of what was Bruce dropping himself to the floor next to his middle. He's tense, expecting something, words telling him where he's gone wrong and what he couldn't do, instead he gets a hand testingly caressing against his cheek. Tony fights himself to not flinch away or even lean into the touch like he's starved for it. The hand stopped, cupping his cheek and thumb swiping against his lips and Tony finally looks at him.

Eyes were red, apology written through them, cutting through the brown like it was meant to be there. Tony doesn't know what to fucking say but; “Do you want to leave?” It's everything and nothing and Tony hates the emotions that were filling his voice because they weren't welcome, but he's so _tired_ and finished with dancing around this problem. “Is this not enough or something? Because there are better ways to do this kind of thing Bruce! Social protocols and shit and fuck, do you know how fucking much it --”

“No,” the word struck him to silence, the hand dropped to his solder and Bruce's hand slowly moved to touch the arc reactor. “I don't want to leave, this is more than enough, you don't follow social protocols either, so shush.” He sounds wrecked to Tony's ears, just as broken as Tony felt and finally he rested his forehead to Tony's stomach. Placing a few kisses that make Tony fucking wonder if he's trying to say good bye anyways.

“Then why--?” He asks, choking down the rest of the questions that lingered just below the tip of his tongue, ready for him to shatter the air in front of them with the words that needed to be said but _wouldn't_ because Tony couldn't say it.

“Because I don't deserve this, you,” And finally Tony is fucking snapping and smacking him hard enough to shock him.

“Fuck you,” Tony choked. “I fucking _hate_ you and myself right now. Your fucking self loathing has no place in my fucking home, but you do so. Stop. Because I fucking--” He cuts himself off before he says it, just stares down at Bruce's head and yanks him up for a fucking kiss. “Do you have any idea what you--”

“Tony,” Bruce hushes, kissing his lips against Tony's ever so lightly and it makes Tony's head spin, like there's fucking being sent through him. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” he growls and bites Bruce's lips in a punishing way and his nails dig into his scalp. “I fucking hate you, hate how you make me fucking feel--” he breathed, never letting Bruce's mouth get away from his for long. “I hate you for making me think I fucked this up – I don't want to fuck this up, I can't fuck this up, do you get this? You're not allowed to fucking leave, you fucking bastard. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” Tony chants, crashing his lips against Bruce's over and over again. “I hate you for making me--” He lets out a distressed noise. “Don't, please, don't ever do that,” he begs.

He can feel Bruce breathing apologies across his lips and Tony lets him move away, but Bruce just kisses just as frantic as Tony feels – along his neck, down his chest, and he stops at the arc reactor and presses his palm flat against it. Tony thinks there's a promise there, but he can't be sure not when he rakes his nails against Bruce's shoulders, clawing for him to get into a better position, nails digging red crescents into the skin and Bruce gives.

The way he settles over Tony leaves him whimpering, he leans in and bites his neck, scratches red angry marks down the panes of his back, bruises fingers prints into his side and whispers profanities and half promises that leave them both gasping for air and Tony is given the chance to take his fill of it. He takes and takes, scratching becomes pawing and finally Bruce kisses him like he's drowning and Tony was his oxygen tank. He feels so hyper sensitive, responding and giving more to Bruce than he wanted too in the first place. He begs him with his teeth to keep touching him, his wrists his stomach and pleads with his eyes for everything to never stop.

He feels like he's fifteen, exploring a woman's body for the first time, except the soft lines aren't so soft and Bruce's covered in thick hair that makes Tony want to bite and suck his collarbone over and over again. He takes a few seconds to admire the handy work, the necklace of yellow and purple bruises that meet in the dip of the bones and drag down the middle of his chest as if they were prayer beads to a god unknown. Bruce is sucking kisses to his wrists, marking them his warm bites and pleading breaths that Tony is wont to take as _I'll never leave you, don't worry_. He feels him whispering three words that shouldn't make the air whoosh out of his chest and Tony needs them to stop or he's going to spark into sunbursts under Bruce's touch.

“Bed,” Tony mewls suddenly against Bruce's mouth, his tongue writing love you in no other terms against a thick wrist and Bruce just smiles and flops himself flat against Tony.

“No,” Tony's hushed, mouth languidly moving against his. “No more Tony, just...” He feels Bruce moving off of him, disappearing for only a few moments before he has a blanket tossed over his shoulders and there was a warm body sliding in behind his. Tony wants to stay awake, wants to keep touching, keep proving to himself that this was real and proper and needed and then Bruce kisses the back of his neck, wrapping his arms around his waist and fuck if Tony just doesn't drop off to sleep realizing that tomorrow morning Bruce was going to probably make him breakfast and act like a fucking kicked puppy for a bit. Tony doesn't think it even matters because it hits him like a bag of bricks to know that this is what love was and that Bruce was just a stupid bastard who did make mistakes.

Tony loves him too and probably mutters it in his sleep, he hopes he does, because he knows Bruce needs to hear it from Tony.

**Author's Note:**

> this and waxing poetic are unofficial sequels to [fleeting](http://archiveofourown.org/series/23281) and written for Sarah. because i love her. i know i do. /leer.  
> there uh, might be bruce's side? maybe. not sure.


End file.
